29 November 2009

Helter skelter

How often do you think to yourself "There is something seriously wrong with me?"

Often? Please say often. That way I won't feel so alone.

Today I was walked Goldie at my old community college and parked over by the swimming pool. I used to spend an hour a day there doing laps, back and forth in the glassy blue water, composing poetry as I listened to the bubbles in my ears.

I walked up to the fence and looked in and suddenly felt like I had been dropped down an elevator shaft. Darkness zoomed up around me.

I was instantly nauseous and reeling. I grabbed the chain link fence to keep from toppling over.

The pool was empty. It wasn't the sight of my beloved swimming pool empty that got to me. It was just...oh, here it goes - empty swimming pools horrify me in a way that I can't even explain.

It is not rational. It is blown out of proportion. It is more than a bit ridiculous. And it happens every single time.

I staggered back from the fence and kept walking Goldie around the campus for about half an hour, but I couldn't get that gaping empty swimming pool out of my mind.

I felt sick and weak and bad. I just limped on, propelled by the force of a determined 65-pound mutt on a squirrel hunt.

Toward the end of the walk, Goldie sat down suddenly and began madly licking a back foot. I looked at her paw and saw what looked like a moderate gash, like she had stepped on something.

I urged her on because there was nothing I could do to help her. In the middle of the street, she sat down and began licking and chewing and would not move. Fortunately, it wasn't a busy street, but finally a car came along and I kind of dragged her over to the edge.

"Is he ok?" the man in the car asked.

God bless him. I told him she was ok, just had a little cut. I really appreciated him asking - just one human letting another know that they cared. I love people like that.

I sat down on the sidewalk and inspected Goldie's paw more closely and found a big thorn. I pulled it out and we waited a bit and she recovered enough to start rooting in the bushes again.

Then I realized my fear and nausea was all gone. Funny how sometimes a small crisis can return our focus, bring us back into ourselves and make everything ok again.

So make me feel better and tell me about your irrational weirdnesses. Come on. You know you want to.

I get physically ill if someone is touching a balloon. If it's floating around on the ceiling or if they're holding it by a string, I'm ok....but put one finger on it and I can barely contain myself. Weak knees, nauseated, MAJOR flight impulses...I want to RUN. I usually cover my head and duck and walk away quickly. I'm simply terrified of balloons. *shudder*

One word - vomit. My whole ENTIRE life, puke has made me INSANE with panic. No one likes to get sick, but I will GO TO THE ENDS OF THE EARTH to avoid throwing up. If anyone says they have a stomach bug, I will instantly run away. It is the reason why I did not have kids. Seriously. And now that I am married to a man with little germ factories, I have enough money stashed away to spend three nights in a hotel if anyone comes down with the hurls.

I have several other real, debilitating phobias, most health and germ and death related (think Howie Mandel). I have been in therapy for decades. Unfortunately, drugs do very little for full-on phobias.

While most people who know me well know about my particular brand of crazy, I have found that the vast majority of people don't "get it" and love to say things like "Just get over it!" Because, you know, I hadn't thought of that.

This may just sound like a pet peeve, but I hate having to repeat myself. If someone innocently says, "I'm sorry, what?" in a situation where it is hard to hear or something otherwise reasonable, I can tolerate it, but if I think that a person is just distracted or ignoring me in some way I take it very, very personally and feel like stabbing. At home and at work, in particular, I have to work very hard not to be a complete bitch if I am not heard the first time.

I have 1,001 other anxiety issues, but nothing can ramp me up to panic levels and anger levels like that can.

When my fingers are all wrinkled up from a bath, I can't stand it when they touch each other. I taste blood in my mouth when they do. It is the most horrible feeling in the world, and I wish that you could see the grimace on my face just from having to write about it. The mere thought of it sets me on edge.

It was several years ago (and I mean SEVERAL years ago) I was watching an IMAX movie about the North Pole. They were doing SCUBA treks under the ice. The looked down and found a dog-sled team, somthing like 8 or 10 dogs still attached to the sled with the guy still holding the reins and most of the stuff still on the sled, preserved in the freezing water. Then they panned up, and it was all dark solid black ice except for one tiny little patch which was the hole they entered in. I broke into a cold sweat and got nauseous and breathing heavy. Total panic attack. Don't watch underwater adventures anymore.

Wrinkles! My saint of a husband has learned to just relax and give me the 10 minutes (or more) it takes to find a comfy position in bed - no wrinkles in my pjs under me, no wrinkles in the pillowcase that I can feel on my face, sheets smooth, hair pulled off my face - yet still covering my ears, top blanket folded over just so it tucks in up to my collarbone, but NOT over the neck because then I feel like I can't breathe. Oh gosh, it sounds even whackier now that I've put it in writing for the first time ever!

Insects that jump. Grasshoppers, crickets, whatever. I can't be in the room with them. My in-laws tell a lovely story about me being dropped off at home & having to ring my sister-in-law to come back & take the huge grasshopper out of the bathroom (honestly, it was at least 15' long) before I could go in there. Makes me want to vomit.

You are so not crazy. I get the same dizzy/disoriented feeling from - get this - tightly packed geometric circular shapes like a conglomeration of tiny soap bubbles or looking directly into the garlic press before cleaning it. I can understand your empty pool fear, but being terrified of pinpoints of macerated garlic? Uy. Me so crazy.

I react viscerally to some words and phrases - like linguistic synethesia. For instance, I hate the word "glee." It is like nails on a chalkboard in my brain. As you can imagine, Twitter is frequently challenging for me as a result, lately. Something about the phrase "slow cooker" bothers me. Yummie Tummie grates.